


Ice, Fire, and Metal

by Amy_the_Asgardian



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Oh look loki's going to screw up again, dammit loki, here we go again, possibly a lot, tony why can't you just leave him alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-01-08 00:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amy_the_Asgardian/pseuds/Amy_the_Asgardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As dangerous as he knows Loki is, Tony just can't keep away. What happened in New York has bothered him for months; he's determined to figure out what exactly happened and how he survived– no matter the cost.</p><p>Curiosity killed the cat, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aconitine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconitine/gifts).



           All his life, he’d heard the old adage ‘never insult someone’s children.’ As he watched Loki slowly get to his feet, anger seeping from his fingertips in the form of magic, he realized they couldn’t be more right. He’d never seen the god look this angry– like a cornered animal, hackles rising in an attempt to strike fear into those around him.

 

It was working. Tony was terrified.

 

Tony tried to interject; a futile attempt to get the god to calm down just a bit– the last thing he needed was for New York to be reduced to ashes and dust. Again. “Dude, seriously- calm down. I was just joking, I didn’t mean–“

 

Anything said after that was unheard, because Loki just started shrieking.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to ask the god how an eight-legged horse managed to lie down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Six months earlier, back before he’d ever heard of eight legged horses or gods with golden reindeer horns and serious daddy issues, Tony was restless. Bored, too, which when added to nervousness didn’t end well for the 43-year-old MIT graduate– or his AI, Jarvis.

 

“Sir,” the machine started, “you should _really_ consider taking a rest. You’ve been up for forty-eight hours, surely your body needs it...”

 

The machine’s warning fell on deaf ears; Tony was entirely too caught up in his work to notice.

 

He was fiddling around with Mark IV– mainly an attempt to alleviate boredom, but he also figured that the more time he spent here in his workshop, the less he would have to spend dealing with Pepper and her daily meltdowns about the welfare of Stark Industries.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed her daily nervous breakdown was occurring right on schedule. He could hear her yelling clear as day, even an entire floor under where she was standing. It seemed today’s meltdown was going to be particularly unpleasant.

 

“ANTHONY STARK!” she screamed, making her way down the stairs so she could continue to yell at him in the most degrading manner she could manage– which wouldn’t take much effort.

 

In a vain attempt to hide from her antics he hid behind Mark III, which was a pointless attempt in itself.

_Oh fuck,_ he thought. _Here we go._

 

Pepper was used to his antics, but this was the last straw. Tony just didn’t seem to care about Stark Industries anymore. The past few months had seen him slowly but surely retreat from anything to do with the company, and all of the publicity that came along with it. She wasn’t sure if she should sympathize with him or be irritated with him for not actively caring about his company– but at the moment, she was going to choose the latter.

 

“Do you _realize_ that in the past three months, you’ve managed to skip all of the company’s finance meetings? Not to mention all the other meetings which you’ve continuously neglected to attend– does the future of your company even matter to you anymore? Do you even care? Because I’m beginning to wonder, you know, if any of this matters to you because it really seems like–... Tony, why the _hell_ are you hiding behind a suit?”  

 

He had to stifle a laugh. He couldn’t help it; the look on her face when she’d finally spotted him had been absolutely hilarious. He hadn’t seen her look so irritated since Happy insisted they wear ID badges all the time.

 

“Uh, hi, Pep! How’s it goin’? How’re things? I’d sure love to chat but I’m really busy, I’ve got some stuff to work on this afternoon that’s gonna keep me busy for a while...” he started, but was interrupted when Jarvis decided to pipe up with the truth.

 

“Sir, you had me erase your schedule this afternoon; you don’t have anything pressing to work on. If I recall correctly, you specifically asked that your schedule be cleared so you could have the afternoon off. _Again._ ”

 

Pepper turned back to him, and the look on her face made him wish that he’d never created Jarvis to begin with.

 

“So you’ve _really_ been ignoring the company _and_ me, haven’t you?” she began. “Does all of this mean nothing to you? You know, ever since New York happened, you’ve been different. It’s like you’ve become a completely different person, and I don’t think I even know who you are anymore.” By this point she was tearing up; but whether it was from anger or sadness, he couldn’t tell.

 

“Look, Pepper, I– it’s just...” he stuttered, but couldn’t figure out how to tell her. She was right, she always was; ever since New York, he _had_ been different. He’d changed. Hell, how could you go through something like that and _not_ change? He had seen the dissimilarities; felt it coming, but couldn’t do anything about it. Honestly, he’d become obsessed with the incidents that had occurred that one day. He needed to understand why and _how_ everything happened the way it did. The fact that there were other beings out there, other realms, other ways– magic, even– to do things? It terrified him. He needed answers, _needed_ to know how these things worked– and there was only one person he could ask.

Despite his original decision, Fury had gone against the Council’s initial ruling and had decided to keep Loki prisoner here on Earth. SHIELD had attempted, time and time again, to get Loki to explain how and why things happened the way that they did– and to no avail, had failed each time. Loki wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat, and when questioned relentlessly would only reply with the most asinine comment he could come up with. He was having the time of his life annoying the absolute hell out of SHIELD, and they were too stupid to just give up.

 

So was Tony.


	2. Chapter 2

He was going to find a way to talk to the god if it killed him, but first he had to explain himself to Pepper– if she kept screaming and glaring at him like that, he was sure she would explode.

 

That would be one mess Dummy surely wouldn’t be able to clean up, and he couldn’t lose the one person that was holding Stark Industries together.

 

“Look, Pepper... just give me a minute to explain this, alright? I really don’t know how to tell you, you’re going to be irritated anyway, but–... Nothing’s been the same since New York. You experience things, and then they’re over. I can’t sleep, and when I do, I have nightmares. I come down here to work; to piddle around on anything that might take my mind off what happened. I’ve tried alcohol, sleeping pills, and goddamn meditation, for fuck’s sake– nothing else works. This? The tinkering around on broken shit that’ll never get fixed no matter what I do? It clears my mind. It lets me think without the constant worrying about how the fuck I didn’t die that day, okay? Sorry. Just- sorry.” He couldn’t bring himself to look up at her; the current conversation was entirely too personal and he was sure she wouldn’t take him seriously. I mean, he’s Tony Stark. This kind of emotional shit doesn’t happen to him.

 

Well, this was new. Had New York really affected him so much? She knew he’d been kind of upset afterwards, but honestly thought he’d worked through it and gotten over most of it pretty quickly. Tony wasn’t the kind of person to harp on things long after they happened– until now. This was entirely out of his character, and it was terrifying.

 

What was she supposed to say, anyway? When Tony was like this, he was impossible to talk to; like a petulant child who simply didn’t want to accept that any way but theirs was right. She shifted the company files she was holding to her other arm, and figured she would try nevertheless.

 

“Hey, Tony– it’s alright, okay? We can work through this. I know you’ve been through a lot, and I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much to talk to you– things have been really busy here, and... sorry.”

 

He seemed perplexed; like he wasn’t expecting that sort of answer from her– he kept twirling the wrench he was holding around his fingers, which was his usual reaction when he was confused, or simply trying to figure something out. It was kind of hilarious to watch, but Pepper couldn’t pass judgment–  her usual reaction would have been to scream mercilessly into his face about the company’s welfare (which, mind you, she had started to do), chastise him for his carelessness about not attending the daily finance meetings, and stomp away back to her office to make excuses for him– which would have to be done anyway, but that’s a completely separate argument in itself.

 

Holy shit, was Pepper actually being nice to him? He also wasn’t expecting her to apologize– that was what he usually did. ...Had Happy left her flowers? Was this her time of the month or something? Her reaction was the one he was hoping she’d have, but not the one he actually expected her to. He didn’t normally have this kind of luck. Pepper was an anomaly he’d never be able to figure out.

 

Tony knew she was expecting him to continue; to maybe shed some light onto what was going on and how he was feeling, but he couldn’t. First of all, he didn’t know how to put that shit into words, and most importantly, he hadn’t planned this far ahead. He was still kind of shocked that he wasn’t being screamed at, to be honest. He set the wrench he’d been twirling around his fingers down on his workbench, and turned back to Pepper. He figured if they were going to try to talk this over, they could at least be comfortable.

 

“Hey- don’t apologize, really, I don’t know how to deal with that and it isn’t what you normally do– did Happy do something? Did Hammer shit his pants on national television? Please don’t tell me I missed that if it happened, anyway, this is completely off subject, sorry– can we go somewhere more comfortable? Not that I don’t like it here, but if you’re going to play therapist with me I’d rather sit on a couch and stuff so we can both act like we know what we’re doing.”

 

Pepper laughed. “Whatever’s more comfortable for you, I guess. You’re the one with the issues.”

 

“Keep on like that, and the twelve percent of the company you now own will be reduced to ten percent. Again. And I’ll also take away that fancy office chair of yours, and that stupid spinny-thing on your desk that’s going to drive me completely batshit one day.” Seriously, that thing was fucking insane. How anyone could have that on their desk and still concentrate, he didn’t know.

 

She rolled her eyes, and laughed. Pepper was used to his antics; even when he was attempting to be serious he couldn’t keep it up for long- a joke was eventually going to slip itself into the conversation, no matter what he was doing– only when things were very serious would he put the jokes aside, and focus on what was going on. Years ago it would have annoyed her, but she was used to it by now.

 

They both made their way back upstairs– Pepper in the lead with Tony in tow, as always– and made themselves comfortable on the clean, white couches Tony had prided himself in buying– and keeping clean.

“Hey, you can’t slouch like that if you’re going to be a pretend therapist. It’s not professional and I can’t take you seriously; you’re throwing me off. God, Pepper, you’re CEO; sit up and act the part.” he chided, unable even in a moment of seriousness to forego making a slight joke.

 

She glared at Tony, and sat up straighter. “Alright then, what’s going on, really? Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about? I don’t want to pry, but I think it’d help if you talked about some of it.”

 

“Well,” he began, “I–“  
  
He was cut off unexpectedly by Jarvis, who had unsuccessfully been trying to get his attention for the past ten minutes.  
  
“Sir, you have an incoming call from Director Fury.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the feedback/kudos on the first chapter! As always, comments/feedback are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, fuck. What did Fury want this time? He wasn’t blowing shit up, having a mid-life crisis in the middle of a metal donut, or arguing with an irritable Asgardian (yet). The Avengers hadn’t gotten together in months; much to Tony’s surprise, everything had been quiet. Almost too quiet... this kind of peacefulness was disturbing– but then again, after New York, any kind of quietness or normalcy was weird to him. He figured he’d just have to get used to it again, if he could. But then again, Fury didn’t just call to discuss the weather– what the hell was going on?  
  
His thoughts were interrupted again by Jarvis, who was attempting to remind him of Fury’s incoming call– when Fury’s voice rang out into the open expanse of the room.

 

“Stark.”  
  
Tony sighed. “I see you’ve hacked my servers. Again.”  
  
 ** _“_** _Stark.”_  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for reminding me, but I know my last name. It’s not something I tend to forget since, you know, it’s kind of plastered on the side of this building. And it glows at night. It’s really cool, you should–“  
  
“Stark, shut the hell up.” Fury cut in. Apparently, he was having none of Tony’s shit today. “I would not have called if I didn’t need you.”  
  
Much to Pepper’s indignation, Tony stretched, and put his feet up on the couch. “And what would you need me for, exactly? I thought I wasn’t superhero material.”  
  
  
There was an awkward silence, during which Tony and Pepper had a silent argument over whether or not Tony should be allowed to keep his feet up on the couch– I mean, it was his couch anyway, why couldn’t he? God, Pepper; calm down– and then Fury spoke again. Tony’s last comment, as usual, went ignored by Fury; who instead decided to get right down to business.

 

“It’s about Loki.”  
  
Well, fuck. Here was his chance. He’d be able to talk to the irritable god without having to sneak past S.H.I.E.L.D.– which would have been a complete pain in the ass– that is, _if_ Loki would talk. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what Fury wanted him to do with Loki, exactly; he had plans of his own. For all he cared, S.H.I.E.L.D. could suck his– well, nevermind. That wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.

 

A quick glance over at Pepper told him she didn’t approve of this at all– he’d never seen her glare at Jarvis quite like that before, this was new– but once he talked with her, he supposed it would be fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at least she’d know and he wouldn’t have to sneak behind her back. Again. But at the same time, he couldn’t let Fury know he actually _did_ want to talk to Loki. If he even slightly hinted at it, Fury wouldn’t let him within a thousand feet of the caged Asgardian– and that would be counterproductive.

 

“Why _me_? You seriously want the two biggest assholes S.H.I.E.L.D. knows of in the same room, attempting to hold a conversation without killing each other? He’ll blow me up. He’ll blow us all up. _Again._ ”  
  
“Because we’re out of options; he refuses to talk to anyone else. We don’t even know if he’ll talk to you, but unfortunately we don’t have any other choice. I can’t get anyone else to go near him.”  
  
Tony could hear the strain in Fury’s voice, and he thought it was hilarious. That’s what you get for keeping a mentally unstable Asgardian in a fishtank for three months.

 

_Moron._

“And what am I supposed to talk to him about? The weather? Which hair product he uses? Knitting patterns? I mean, come on, he’s fucking insane. I don’t know crazy-speak.”

 

He could almost hear Fury roll his eyes. Whatever, annoying him was fun. It was usually the other way around, and this change was nice, even if it would never happen again– which he was sure of.

 

“Whatever you can get him to say. We need background information if you can get that; we’ve been unable to contact Thor since New York, and no one here knows a damn thing about him. Anything you can get him to talk about that could potentially help us understand why the fuck he did what he did would be extremely helpful. It’s doubtful he’ll even open his mouth, but as I’ve said before, you’re our last hope so at least _try_ to get him to say something.”

 

Oh he was _going_ to try. But if he was gonna talk to Reindeer Games, it would be on his own time. Besides, he basically owned S.H.I.E.L.D.; he didn’t exactly have to answer to them unless he wanted to. And if they pulled shit with him, he’d just cut their funding by sixty percent and sell Coulson’s Captain America comic book collection. That shit was creepy, anyway.

 

“Alright, _Nicky,_ fine. You got me. I’ll talk to shit-for-brains, but only on my own time. If he tries to kill me, whines, or throws a hissy fit, I quit. And I’m not babysitting him, either. If you wanna put him on a leash and take him out for walks, that’s on you. I’m not in the mood to be murdered this year; tried that shit last year and it isn’t really in style anymore. Okay? Okay.” He took his feet off the couch, much to Pepper’s satisfaction, and waited for Fury’s reply.

 

  
“Stark.”  
  
“Yes, _dear_?”  
  
  
“Do not _ever_ call me Nicky or Dear again because _if_ you do I will stick my boot so far up your ass you’ll be shitting leather for two months. As much as I don’t want to, I’ll allow you to talk to Loki as you please– but don’t think it’s because I like you. I _don’t_. I just think that if Loki knows we’re on a schedule, he’ll be less willing to talk than he has been. If you fuck up somehow– which is something you’ve proved to have a talent for– and Loki decides to blow the city up _again_ , I’m going to have _more_ of a problem with you than I already do. Which is saying something, Stark. Understand?”  
  
Tony opened his mouth to reply, but Fury had already hung up. _Bastard._ He’d remember that when S.H.I.E.L.D. needed new uniforms. He was one hundred percent sure Coulson would _love_ a bright pink suit.

 

* * *

  
He glanced to his left, and noticed Pepper was glaring a hole into his forehead. Oh, _damn._ Meltdown number two of the day was going to be _fun._

He sighed. “Pepper–“  
  
“He wants you to talk to him. Out of everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D., he wants you to talk to the insane weirdo that blew up the city.”  
  
“Pepper–“  
  
“Tony, it’s too dangerous. I don’t care what they have him locked behind; I don’t want you around him. ...For once in your life, can’t you just stay away from danger?”  
  
He ran a hand through his hair, and laughed. As much as he valued Pepper’s opinions, he knew he had to do this. He needed answers– and if irritating the hell out of Pepper was what he had to do in order to get them, so be it.

 

Taking one last look at Pepper, he made his way to the door, grabbing his car keys on the way.

 

“Nope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god school's killing me; bear with me and I'll be getting chapters up as soon as I can.
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

A quick glance out the garage door told him driving wouldn’t exactly be the best idea– it was snowing, and apparently had been for some time. Even though S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters were a little over a mile away– hey, he doesn’t walk places; give him a break– Tony decided walking might be the better option. He grabbed an old, threadbare jacket off a nearby workbench and headed outside.

 

For fuck’s sake, was it really snowing outside? Fuck. It’s too cold for this shit. As he struggled to walk through the deep drifts of snow that were slowly piling up on the sidewalks and in the streets, he could only curse the holiday season. Fuck Christmas. Fuck Santa Claus, in particular. His parents had never paid attention to the holidays; they were too busy. Sure, he’d known of Santa Claus and all that “be nice, leave out cookies and this fat bastard will leave you presents” jazz, but his parents had never really bought into the gimmick– he knew all the gifts he’d ever received were either bought or made by his father.

 

Not that he saw much of his father, anyway; he was usually babysat and fussed over by his mother while his father holed himself up in his workshop for days on end.

 

Tony used to curse his father for spending so much time in his workshop, but now he understood it.

 

Everyone needed an outlet, a chance to get the fuck away from the shit in their lives they didn’t want to deal with, and he was about to find his way.

 

In his older age he’d become more like his father than he’d ever care to admit.

 

* * *

 

 

As usual, the god was irritated and pacing his cell– if such a disgrace could even be called such. Even his cell in Asgard’s prison was preferable to this atrocity. His temporary cell during the raid of New York had been nice compared to this– the windows of this makeshift cell were filthy; it’d _clearly_  been ages since they were cleaned. Much to his dismay there was no bed, only a rickety bench that was, unfortunately, about a foot too short for him.

 

Oh, well. He could make do. He always did.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. was a laughable excuse for law enforcement, anyway. If Loki wanted to escape, he’d be out in under a minute. He really didn’t understand why they thought they could contain him here; keep him under control– he is the god of chaos, the breaker of worlds. If he wants something, he gets it. If he wants worlds to burn, they’re in ashes within an hour. Loki gets what he wants, he always has.

 

And oh, how he wanted to be here.

 

The prince of the gods could make do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god, not a short chapter
> 
> Sorry guys, school's murdering me and a bunch of weirdly awesome stuff has suddenly come up, so updates might be a bit more stretched out than I originally thought, but don't worry; I'm definitely not abandoning this! 
> 
> Also, the short chapter's a slight preparation for a huge ass painful plot twist in the near future, so don't hate me too much.
> 
> As always, kudos/comments are welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry this took so long to post–school, work, and a waste-of-time relationship all got in the way– I'm so sorry! Hopefully this semester, I'll have more time to write. Once again, all comments/kudos/reviews are welcome! Thank you all for reading!

_Her laugh was one of the most beautiful sounds he thought he’d ever heard. Not comparable to the sweet notes of a songbird or the rich, full notes of even the best singer– no, none of this would do. It was much more than that. It was like watching the sun rise while the rest of the world was sleeping; akin to the rush he got when flying over the Manhattan skyline, far above the hustle and bustle of dingy city streets– it was like coming home. Over and over again._

_Or, in his words, “That shit’s fucking adorable.”_

_She’d just smile and shake her head, like she always did. She’d never accept his compliments, but would instead try to remind him just how much he needed to sign this paperwork, right now, before anything else because it was really important and needed to be done early, like really soon, Tony; this is your company, don’t you even–_

_Then he’d kiss her, interrupt her little speech, because it was the only thing that would get her to stop talking about shit that didn’t matter, because Tony Stark doesn’t do words or explanations; he does actions, and this was the only thing he could think of doing that might serve to show her exactly how he felt about her._

    _And then she’d drop the files she was holding, wrap her arms around him, pull him so close he could barely breathe, barely move for fear he’d ruin it– and he was home again._  

 

 

    That was so long ago, he could barely even remember it. The memory was blurry—tampered with by time and horrible nightmares from a deep, unyielding abyss–but he would give anything to have it back. Today was the only time since then she’d even come near him without the intent to argue about paperwork, and even then that’s what it started with. He’d almost thought she’d overlook his tiny cry for help– he doesn’t do words, obviously– but she didn’t. Half of him was beginning to wonder if she did that just to make herself feel better, or if she truly cared.

 

    People were getting harder and harder to trust these days, and he just couldn’t come to terms with it.

 

* * *

  
  
    The conditions of the holding cell– if you could even call it that– were absolutely deplorable.

  
  
  


_For fa– Odin’s sake, even Asgard’s most dilapidated washrooms were cleaner than this._

  
  
  


    He refused to sit on the rickety bench provided to him by an irritated S.H.I.E.L.D. officer earlier in the week– he was a prince, after all; he deserved something better. Like an armchair.

 

    Requests for one went ignored, but mainly because he refused to ask nicely. The prince of Asgard just wasn’t going to say “please” and “thank you.”

 

    He grew tired of standing, though, so he bit back a tiny amount of pride and arrogance and sat on the floor. It was absolutely filthy– littered with dust and dirt, along with what remained of the little food he’d allowed himself to eat while in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s custody.

 

    Grilled cheese and saltine crackers just weren’t up to his princely standards.

  
  
  


    He sighed. He’d given up keeping track of what day it was a while ago; it just simply wasn’t worth it. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t playing into his hand like he thought they would, so naturally things were going to take a bit longer than he’d originally planned. Which, once again, was fine with him–he enjoyed watching all the naive S.H.I.E.L.D. agents run around like confused, lost children. Even though his holding cell was absolutely disgusting, it wasn’t the same cell he was in during the battle of New York–this particular cell had a much better vantage point. He wasn’t down below everyone in the dark, but rather far above–it was suspended from the ceiling by cables thicker than his arms, and had a glass bottom–which made it particularly easy for him to watch the activity of the agents below him.

 

    It amused him, to a certain degree. Once again, he was above everyone else, and could watch those below him like a hawk.

 

    He did, however, find it difficult to hear the conversations of those passing under him, which he attributed to the thickness of the glass cell and his distance from the floor. He was, altogether, about thirty five feet above everything else.

 

    _A prince_ , he thought, _in his rightful place._

 

* * *

 

_Why the fuck is it so cold? And why the fuck do my legs hurt so much? Shit, it was only a two mile walk, what the–oh fuck you, fucking fake ass Santa Claus with your fake ass–FUCK-!_  
  
    Despite popular belief, Tony Stark wasn’t the most sure-footed person to ever walk–well, stumble–over the Earth. However, this was the first time he’d fallen face-first into a snowdrift. Today, apparently, just wasn’t his day.

 

    He stood, brushed the snow off of himself–with hands that were now nearly numb–and continued on his way.

 

    Eventually, with much more clumsiness, cursing, and overall whining, he finally made it to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters. He had an idea of where Loki’s cell was, but decided to roam around a bit before finding the god in order to hopefully gain some feeling back in his hands and feet.

 

_Fuck this fucking cold ass weather,_  he thought once again. _Should have just worn the fucking suit._

 

    He had seriously considered wearing it particularly for the warmth it provided, but decided against it—he didn’t want the god to assume he was here for a fight. He just wanted to talk, so he’d worn “normal” clothes–albeit threadbare ones–in order to for once in his life seem less threatening.

 

    After walking in circles around the lobby for about half an hour, he’d regained enough feeling in his once-freezing limbs, and decided it was time to find Loki.

 

* * *

 

    What Tony didn’t know was that the god already knew he was there.

 

    And oh, was he prepared.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Loki had paced around his cell for hours. When did that _wretched_  mortal plan to get over himself and actually come and speak to him? The man was a complete waste of time. Either Stark was terrified of him–which was most probable, considering the man’s actions in the battle of New York–or he hadn’t devised a way to get what he wanted out of Loki yet. Since the god had had an ample amount of time to think, he supposed it was the latter–as scared as Stark may be, he was also an absolute idiot. It would take more than sly words and snarkish comments to sway the god; he is not called the Silvertongue simply for show.

The god paused in his pacing and laughed, a quiet sound which slowly escalated into loud, near-maniacal laughter. _The mortal fails to realize what he is getting himself into,_  he thought.

Loki would not be fooled. Not again, not by anyone. He would win, would make the mortal bow to him, and finally, _finally_  get what had been promised to him long ago.

 

* * *

 

 _Fuck,_ Tony thought, _how the fuck do I find this bastard?_  He’d been walking in circles for quite some time now–he couldn’t ask for help, mainly because S.H.I.E.L.D agents were useless, but also because he couldn’t find anyone _to_  ask. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t very fond of Loki getting visitors. In fact, they weren’t very fond of Loki at all, which was probably why Tony was having so much trouble locating him. He wasn’t even sure if anyone knew Fury told him to be here. He had no choice but to find his own way–which, as it turned out, was more difficult than he thought it’d be.

_What the fuck even is this place? A real-life M.C. Escher? Fucking hell._

Cursing to himself, he took yet another staircase to nowhere and within ten minutes’ time was face to face with Rudolph himself.

Well, Rudolph’s back, to be exact–Loki was facing away from him, and appeared to be laughing to himself.

 _Great. He’s already more batshit than I knew he was._   

Tony took a chance, and lightly rapped two knuckles against the thick glass of Loki’s cell.

The god didn’t even notice.

 Again, Tony knocked on the glass–much harder this time–and tried in vain to get the god’s attention. “HEY! REINDEER GAMES!”

Loki nearly jumped out of his skin but caught himself, spun on a dime, and settled into a defensive stance. The god was absolutely livid.

_How DARE anyone sneak up on me? How DARE this mortal, this absolute waste of flesh and blood, even manage to–_

“Seriously, Reindeer Games, has being trapped in a fishtank gotten to you this bad?”

 _Norns._  Stark’s voice was more grating than he remembered.

The god slowly walked over to where Tony was standing and spoke, voice low–barely more than a whisper–but more lethal than any poison. He was snarling–teeth bared, eyes blazing green, and looking every inch the murderous demigod he was. “How _dare_  you sneak up on me? I am royalty—a god—so how _dare_  you saunter over to my cell as if you own it without even requesting an audience? I should kill you where you stand, you absolu–”

“Uh, see, two issues with that,” Tony blurted out. “One being yes, I did try to get your attention, more than once in fact, and two–I knocked. Like, twice. This one’s on you, crazy eyes. But seriously, you mind turning that shit down or something? You’ve kinda got a whole creepy satanic demon thing going on; it isn’t really–”

Loki beat both fists against the glass and snarled. He was every bit an angry, caged animal, and he would not be insulted. “Do not _DARE_  lie to me. You know who I am, do you not? Or is that too difficult a concept for you to understand?”

“Okay,” Tony started, “what the absolute fuck? Seriously, I tried to get your attention. Like, five million times. It’s not my fault you can’t hear anything. You’ve got some serious mental shit going on. I mean, honestly, maybe you should clean your ears out or something. Maybe then you could hear bette–”

The look in Loki’s eyes made him rethink his comment, and the god was glad for it. He lived to see the terror in peoples’ eyes in the face of his anger, loved to see them shake with anxiety and wring their hands in fear–oh, he absolutely _loved_  it. He loved to dominate; loved the feeling of having this much control over those below him–and intended to relish every second of it. Loki took a deep breath. He could smell the mortal’s fear—oh, this was _wonderful_ –and looked the smaller man in the eye. He spoke softly, but his voice was full of rage–the kind that would send einherjar running in fear and even the oh-so-mighty Thor running back to Frigga in tears. Oh, how he loved this. “You _dare_  come here to _insult_  me? You absolute fool. Were I not in this cell I would rip you to pieces and feed you to the hounds. But you are not worth my time to kill, are you? You are a mere child, meddling with the business of the gods, and you do not belong. _Get out of my sight._ ”

 

* * *

 

Fuck. This wasn’t going well at all. If he couldn’t get Loki to talk, even for a second, what the hell was he supposed to do? He was kind of pissed–Fury _knew_  this would happen, but still expected Tony to get answers out of the crazy fuck in the fishtank? _Bullshit_. He also felt a bit helpless. There _had_  to be a way to get the god to speak. Everyone had a weakness… he just had to find Loki’s.

Which, admittedly, was not going to be easy.

But since when was anything he did easy?

 

* * *

 

He took a few steps back from Loki’s cell and decided to speak again. “Look, I didn’t come here to argue—I mean I know that always happens because hey, I’m Tony Stark, but anyway, back to business—I know you hate my guts and want me dead and all that jazz, and trust me I totally get it because same, but there’s something I need to know. Back during the battle in New York, with the whole crazy-ass-alien-black-hole-thing and stuff and you going even more batshit than you already are… How the fuck did I survive that? I mean, if you went through that crazy shit to get here–how the fuck did _we_  survive that? I’m not trying to appeal to your nice side, because you totally don’t have one and that just isn’t something I do, because I’m me, but seriously.

“I can’t sleep, can’t function, can’t anything because of that shit. It’s been a problem since it happened, and, well… I don’t deal with shit. At all. So… can you tell me anything?”

Tony honestly felt like an idiot. He didn’t normally stumble over words as bad as that–well, he did, but he didn’t usually feel so nervous. This was fucking stupid; he should have known there’d be a catch to anything Fury asked him to do, especially anything concerning an insane norse god. He also wasn’t the type to go up to said weird-ass batshit insane norse god and ask for advice, but he was completely out of options. He needed answers.

The god stood there for a couple of minutes, seemingly taking in Tony’s request, and then he laughed. He laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the glass wall of his cell, and clutched his stomach with his free hand as if he was in pain from it all.

Loki finally regained his composure and stood to properly face Tony. His face was lit up with a jeering smile, which only made the god’s bright green eyes look even more sinister. “Iron Man himself, afraid of a little darkness? Oh, I _never_  thought I’d see the day. And now you come to me, wringing your hands like a frightened child, expecting me to help without giving me anything in return? Pitiful. Absolutely _pitiful._ ” The god laughed once more and strode to the back of his cell, seeming to ignore Tony’s presence.

Tony sighed, and tried a different approach. “Look, Loki; I’m really just trying to–”

Before Tony could finish, the god turned to face him once again, and spoke in a quiet, mocking tone. “Tell me–does the darkness bother you at night? Are you afraid of the _monsters_  that lurk in the shadows? Does the sound of silence—absolute silence, when it is so quiet you can hear your heartbeat–send you reeling in fear? Tell me, how bad are your nightmares? Do you wake up in a cold sweat, screaming for help? Do you?”

" _Fuck you,_ ” Tony growled. He was beyond irritated because he was here in the first place–even though he knew he had to be–and now this shit? All thanks to Fury. _Fuck_  Fury.

Loki just smiled. “If you wish–although this cell does make that a bit difficult.”

Tony turned on his heel and made his way to the staircase, which he descended as fast as his legs would take him. He’d had enough of Loki’s shit to last him for the rest of the week… but he’d be back.

The god laughed. _Pitiful. Take his suit away from him and he has nothing._

 

* * *

 

That evening found the god lying on his side in his cell, considering the events of the day. He ran his fingers over his ears and, brow furrowed, tried in vain to understand why everything seemed so muted, so distant. He could have _sworn_  he hadn’t heard the mortal approach him earlier–in fact he knew he hadn’t, and was willing to swear an oath on it to prove it–but how? What had changed? 

Slowly, fear began to creep into his bones. It was a cold, chilling feeling–much colder than his jötun form–and it worried him.

What else had _He_  done to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I was able to post this chapter within a reasonable amount of time–it's been hard as of late to actually sit down and write, but I'm trying to get back into it. 
> 
> Once again–thanks so much for reading/giving kudos/commenting! :)


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